We heard the songs from auld lang syne In literature we banished our thoughts In paperbacks we compressed the stings That once had bitten the bourgeois folks But we endeavour no more, we gave it up... With thesis and synthesis We protected our antithesis With boredom and freedom We created a world of wrong- Finally reality has stolen our supremacy: Engaged into a thousand strings That Theseus laid in various histories: A world of scrub, between scrub- Social interaction for hiring to protection! "Dash the poison'd chalice from thy Hand" - but there's no one to recommend you Left alone, left aside, the epigones are greeting you, They fill the lag with your dead body... There was a word in the beginning Have we failed to mention which one? The wire has cut the lines Oedipus looks in our minds And plays the dustbin for our thoughts The reservoir for hysteria So hundred sceletons fight to bay The epigones of sad dismay The blue flower of wildest dreams Still I pick it up And what's left of it?